


oh speak again, bright angel

by discorporating



Series: Aziraphale and Crowley Through the Ages [1]
Category: Edward III - Shakespeare, Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett, Romeo And Juliet - Shakespeare
Genre: Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale and Crowley Through The Ages (Good Omens), Canon Compliant, Crowley Hates the 14th Century (Good Omens), Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), M/M, Mutual Pining, Oblivious Aziraphale (Good Omens), Oblivious Crowley (Good Omens), One Shot, POV Outsider, Romeo and Juliet References, Scene: Globe Theatre 1601 (Good Omens), Shakespeare Quotations
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-14
Updated: 2021-03-14
Packaged: 2021-03-21 23:28:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30029508
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/discorporating/pseuds/discorporating
Summary: William Shakespeare is having trouble conveying Romeo and Juliet’s love for each other, so when he sees Mr. Fell and Mr. Crowley in the audience, he knows they’ll be the perfect source of inspiration. After all, with the way they act, they have to be a couple, right? Mutual pining, awkward conversations, and a very confused Shakespeare ensue.Or: While reading R&J, I came upon the line in the title. Turns out Shakespeare was one of the first to use “angel” as a romantic nickname. The fic just wrote itself.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Aziraphale and Crowley Through the Ages [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2209704
Comments: 8
Kudos: 66





	oh speak again, bright angel

**Author's Note:**

> This mostly takes place in 1596, and the play they’re watching is “Edward III” co-written by Shakespeare. Also, I have no idea if Shakespeare wrote his plays at the Globe itself—he probably didn’t—but for the sake of this let’s pretend he did. Enjoy!

William Shakespeare was about to lose it. The Globe’s lively audience was a bit _too_ lively for his liking, he had been staring at a blank page for what seemed like an hour, and if one other person threw a half-eaten apple onto the stage William swore there would be hell to pay. Hadn’t anyone ever heard of peace and quiet? All he wanted to do was write his newest play, _Romeo and Juliet_ , was that too much to ask? 

Granted, he hadn’t realized writing a not-overtly-explicit-but-not-too-prudish heterosexual sex scene would be this difficult, but he was _the_ William Shakespeare for Christ’s sake, he could figure it out. Besides, with all the screaming going on in the background, one couldn’t blame him for not being able to write Romeo and Juliet in the throes of passion… or at least that’s what he kept telling himself.

William sighed, running his index finger down the soft white feather of his quill as he thought of what to write. ‘Oh speak again, my dearest,’ he scribbled down in perfect calligraphy. He winced. No, that wasn’t right at all! Romeo loved Juliet deeply—a love so passionate William was unsure his readers would believe it was real—so ‘my dearest’ didn’t even begin to express the young Montague’s feelings. 

The playwright was having trouble describing Romeo’s adoration for Juliet, after all, nobody could _possibly_ feel so strongly in real life, and the incessant jeers of the audience certainly weren’t helping relieve his writer’s block. With a groan, he crumbled up the parchment into a ball, tossing it into the steadily growing pile at his feet. It was no use, he was never going to finish. 

Abruptly, he stood up with dramatic flourish, kicking aside the crumbled paper as he pulled his chair out. Flipping his hair at no one in particular, he stormed down the stage, essentially interrupting his own play. The actors shrugged, already used to William’s outbursts, and continued on, as did the patrons’ jeering. One voice in particular stood out.

“Oy! What the hell, Will?” William glared at the perpetrator, unsurprised to see a flash of red hair. “Me and my fri-” he cut himself off at a _look_ from the blonde-haired man next to him, “ _acquaintance_ are watching. Not that I particularly want to see this. The writing is… _okay_ I suppose, but I wish you’d make a funny one. Or, you know, an accurate one.”

William frowned. He had seen the pair at the Globe before, Mr. Fell and his “not friend” Mr. Crowley. He suspected they were secretly lovers, though he could never be sure. Mr. Fell was gayer than a treeful of monkeys on nitrous oxide, he was certain of it, but the blonde didn’t understand _any_ of the innuendos or terms! William was convinced Mr. Fell lived under a rock. Or, perhaps, he wasn’t interested in the modern dating scene, now that he had Mr. Crowley.

In fact… that gave him an idea. He rushed over to where the couple was standing. Mr. Fell grinned radiantly at his presence, oddly reminding William of an angel.

Turning fully to face the playwright, Mr. Fell leaned in closer so that his voice would be heard over the noise. “Ignore the crowd, this play of yours is great work,” he said, ignoring Mr. Crowley’s half-hearted protest. “I’ve met quite a lot of people over the years, some good, some bad, but Edward III is quite honestly one of the most interesting-”

“ _Most interesting_ historical figures you’ve ever read about. During school. Because that’s what normal humans do,” Mr. Crowley interrupted. Mr. Fell gave him a glance that was supposed to look admonishing, but in reality looked like a mix of fondness and amusement.

“That’s besides the point. William, you did a wonderful job. Almost makes me want to go back there.” There was an awkward pause. “Okay, not really. The Black Death was an atrocious time.”

Crowley smiled wryly. “You know how much I hate the 14th century.”

“Trust me, dear boy, I know.”

Choosing to ignore the couple’s strange conversation (what did Mr. Fell mean when he said he wanted to go back, and why did Crowley hate the 14th century, William wondered), the playwright focused on their interactions. Despite being polar opposites in both dress and personality, the two were obviously very comfortable with each other. It was like they were in on a joke only they knew about, with anyone else feeling like an outsider. Even now, Mr. Fell and Mr. Crowley were, unintentionally or not, excluding him. 

_How long have they known each other?_ William pondered. _Has to be years—decades, maybe._

Never one to keep his thoughts to himself, William asked just that. It was a straightforward question, or so he thought, but Mr. Fell and Mr. Crowley just shared an imperceptible look. Finally, after staring at each other in silence for a good thirty seconds as William stood quietly, feeling out of place at his own play, Mr. Crowley spoke.

“It’s been so long I hardly remember. Honestly, it feels like we’ve been fri- we’ve known each other since Eden.” He chuckled awkwardly, and William got the feeling he was hiding something.

Mr. Fell rolled his eyes good-naturedly. “You’re confusing him, Crowley! What my wiley adversary meant to say is we’ve known each other for thirty years. Yes, that seems like a good estimate of time for this corporation.” The last part was said softer, probably meant only for himself (and maybe Mr. Crowley), but William heard it loud and clear. Now he was even more confused. Corporation? Wiley adversary? What on earth was Mr. Fell on about?

“Sure, angel, whatever you say. I think my corporation looks about forty, so what, we met when we were ten? After all this time, we’re still together…” Mr. Crowley responded, and the two were back to bickering about nothing again. They reminded William of a married couple, not that they could get married. Maybe someday, William hoped.

But, oh, what had Mr. Crowley called Mr. Fell? Angel. And the way he said it… it was as if all his emotions, his love, had been boiled down into that one word.

 _Angel_. Now that was an endearment worth writing about. With a smile, William turned his back on the lovers—for they ought to be lovers, there was no other explanation—and scurried back to his desk. They didn’t even notice, they were so wrapped up in each other. 

As he put his quill back on parchment paper, William found himself thinking of the couple. They were odd, but, if he was being honest, he wanted a love like that too. A forbidden love that lasts, a love story for the ages… Earth’s very own Romeo and Juliet. 

The words came naturally after that.

  
***

“Oh speak again, bright angel! For thou art as glorious to this night, being o'er my head, as is a winged messenger of heaven, unto the white, upturned, wondering eyes of mortals that fall back to gaze on him,” the actor playing Romeo declared on stage, his voice tinged with passion and love. William smiled from backstage. His baby—a literary masterpiece, if he did say so himself—was finally being performed for all to see. The audience simply loved it, he could tell.

Speaking of the audience, Aziraphale, a frequent purveyor of the Globe, beamed, turning toward his demonic companion. “Romeo’s calling Juliet angel! How romantic.” He leaned in conspiratorially. “You know, I have a feeling the nickname will catch on. It might even be _miraculous_.” The angel thought he was being subtle. He wasn’t.

Crowley leveled him a glance from behind his pitifully small glasses. “Seriously, ang- Aziraphale?” Aziraphale simply nodded, still smiling. 

“It’ll be _adorable_. Comparing your partner to the most holy, pure of beings… what a thought.” He lowered his voice secretively. “Besides, it’s good publicity for Heaven. A compliment to the work angels do.”

Crowley scoffed. “Yes, because Gabriel and the rest of those wankers definitely deserve more compliments. Totally won’t go to their heads or anything… not that Gabriel can _get_ more arrogant.”

Aziraphale playfully punched him on the arm. “Really, there’s no need to be rude.” His grin betrayed his thoughts on the matter.

“It’s true and you know it,” Crowley muttered. Aziraphale chose not to dignify that with a response, and they lapsed into a friendly silence. As Romeo simulated gyrating motions on the stage, Aziraphale spoke up again.

“I _do_ hope you’ll keep calling me angel, though. For tradition’s sake. Not because you…” he trailed off.

Crowley’s ears turned as red as his hair. “Ngk... yeah. Of course, angel. I mean, that’s what you are. So.”

Aziraphale pursed his lips, nodding. “Qu- quite right. Besides, it’s not like we actually...” 

Crowley dismissed him with a wave of his hand, aiming for aloofness but actually looking very stiff. “Pfft. Of course. You’re just ‘angel’ to me, the heavenly kind, I mean. Nothing more.” This time, the silence was a bit more forced. 

“I wonder how Will came up with it. ‘Angel’. Seems like an odd choice of word,” Crowley wondered out loud, desperately trying to break the tension. Aziraphale noticed the way he said ‘angel’ was slightly different than usual, though he was probably overthinking it.

“You don’t think it was because of that conversation we had with him?”

Crowley raised his eyebrows, panic rising within him. Had Shakespeare sensed Crowley’s _feelings_ toward Aziraphale (he wasn’t willing to give them a name just yet)? And here he was thinking he was being subtle… then again, the angel was so obtuse that even shaking him and shouting ‘I love you’ in his ear wouldn’t get through to him.

_Wait, ‘I love you’? Oh shi-_

“Don’t look so upset, Crowley. It isn’t the first time someone has assumed such a thing about us, and it certainly won’t be the last. I happen to think I’m a catch, actually,” Aziraphale declared indignantly, interrupting Crowley’s thoughts.

Choosing to file those traitorous thoughts for another time, preferably one with a little less angel and a little more booze, Crowley grinned, showing off all his teeth. He bent down so he was whispering in the angel’s ear. “Anyone’d be lucky to have you. I’m sure even Willy-boy wants a shag.”

Aziraphale sputtered. “How dare-”

“Oh, don’t be like that. ‘M a demon, I can sense lussst.” 

Aziraphale shivered, though he wasn’t sure if it was because of the cold or because of the sinful way Crowley spoke. “L- let’s just watch the play, dear boy.”

And as Romeo and Juliet parted ways, not knowing when they would see each other again, a demon and an angel found themselves, not that they knew it, thinking the same thing: _I want us to be like Romeo and Juliet._

**Author's Note:**

> Aw, poor Aziraphale and Crowley not realizing Romeo and Juliet die at the end. Once they saw that I’m sure they were horrified, and proceeded to ignore their yearning.
> 
> Anyway, I hope you liked this fic! Comments and kudos are always appreciated. Fun fact of the day: there’s a whole Wikipedia article dedicated to Shakespeare’s sexuality—the guy wrote 126 love poems to his boyfriend! The more you know...


End file.
